What Makes A Marriage
by ChelsieSouloftheAbbey
Summary: "Grow old along with me, whatever fate decrees. We will see it through for our love is true ..." Glimpses into various days and scenes from the Carsons' marriage, from the most basic to the complex. Mostly fluff; canon setting.
1. Vulnerabilities

**_The Honeymoon ..._**

The sound of the waves reached her ears as it filtered in through the cracked-open window, and Elsie's eyes flew open, that small panic that can overtake when one is in a strange place clenching her heart before letting it go again, before she _remembered_ where she was … and ascertained what the time must be if the sun was just coming up …

… and why she was entirely unclothed.

She took a few moments to take stock: _Soft light peeking in through the curtain, tide coming in, sore muscles, snoring husband ..._

 ** _Husband._**

It had been a relationship so long in coming that her mind only recently began thinking of him as _Charles,_ let alone as her spouse. It was the house scheme that had done it, of course, and all that had gone along with that. She smiled and rolled her eyes a bit when she remembered that _her_ name was on that deed, too, that _she_ had chosen colors for the parlour and the curtains that would adorn the bedrooms. The past two weeks had involved lining up workmen to begin some minor repairs while she and Charles would be away on honeymoon. _Charlie,_ she'd called him at their reception, when she'd had one more glass of punch than she probably should have, but then his boyish smile at the name had more than made up for the apprehension she'd felt upon uttering it aloud and all was right in her world once again.

She'd been off-kilter for weeks, but it was only now - in this most unlikely of circumstances, or so she'd spent decades thinking - that she finally felt calm once again.

He stirred a bit, moved over, and she tucked herself into his side.

"Good morning," he said, his voice thick and raspy. He stretched his neck, bending down a bit to kiss the top of her head.

"Good morning," she replied, and her voice was softer than he'd expected - shy, almost, although he didn't think that was quite right, either.

"Everything alright?"

Elsie propped herself up on her elbow, licked her lips as she swallowed and contemplated her reply. She was at a loss, and so she trailed her fingers up and into the sparse hair on his chest, absentmindedly caressing his skin, and nodded.

"You're sure?"

She smiled.

"More than alright, Mr. Carson," she replied, and she stretched toward him for a proper kiss. His arms came up and he pulled her closer.

"Me too." He glanced at the window. "Strange to be up after the sun."

"Nice, though."

" _Nice_ is waking up with you," he replied, his voice full of love.

She blushed. "That's a sweet thing to say."

Charles tipped her chin down so that he could look into her deep blue eyes. "I mean it, Elsie. I've dreamt of this for … well," he chuckled, "for a very long time."

Tears pricked her eyes, and she nodded in agreement as she rested her head over his heart. They stayed quiet for a while, but Charles could almost hear her turning something over in her mind.

"What is it?" he gently pressed.

Her fingertips left his chest and ventured lower, grazing over his belly and making him twitch.

"That tickles."

"Sorry," she whispered, filing that little bit of information away in her mind for another time.

"Don't be."

He watched her, seeing the feelings she hadn't _quite_ managed to tuck away and wondering if perhaps that was because she'd just woken … wondered if she, like he, needed time in the morning to put on the face that the rest of the world got to see. His lips curled up as the significance of that assaulted him: no one else would likely ever see this side of her. _He_ had never seen it until just now.

"Charlie?"

The smile broke free, and his eyes were soft as he gazed into hers. "I was just thinking that no one but me will ever see you like this."

"I should hope not!"

"No, I meant …" He thought for a moment. "Unprotected. Vulnerable, maybe."

"Funny you'd put it that way." Her voice became thoughtful. "I wondered the other day if that was the true worry I had about ... well, about all of _this._ " She waved her hand in the air.

"What? Being vulnerable?"

She nodded.

"Because you're not the impeccably put-together housekeeper _now_ ," he said with a nod, his hand creeping over to rest on the softness of her belly, his fingertips on her hip. "Although I should say -" He stretched a bit and softly kissed her lips. "- I do rather love this side of you."

"Ah, so there really _is_ a typical man living beneath that butler's livery." She was joking now, and he recognized it for the poorly-disguised attempt at deflection that it was.

"I mean it," he replied soberly. "I'm quite honored that I'll see this side of you now, these raw glimpses of what lies at your core."

Elsie nodded slowly in understanding. It was something she'd pondered last night when they prepared for bed, neither knowing quite what to expect. Or at least, she assumed he didn't - _she_ certainly had no idea.

That line of thinking brought her back to an earlier thought. "Charles?"

He leaned over and kissed her shoulder. "Mm?"

She blushed, and the deep crimson that crept over her chest and neck caught his attention. "How did you know?"

His kisses moved down her arm, but he paused to look up. "Know what?"

Her mind traveled back a few hours. "How did you know … How did you know how to _do_ that?" She swallowed and took a deep breath. "Last night," she clarified her thumb and forefinger grasping the sheet and twisting it a bit. "To me," she ended with a whisper.

"Oh." It was his turn to blush a bit, and she instantly regretted even asking. But apologizing didn't come any easier, and so she waited it out.

He surprised her by backing away a bit, and she was nervous until he reached for her and pulled her close again.

"I'm a good listener," he said.

Her reaction was one of shock, and she pulled away swiftly in order to look him in the eyes. "I beg your pardon?"

"To stories!" he clarified quickly, lest she think he's been spending his days listening to the intimacies of others through locked doors at Downton. "Back when I was with Grigg, mostly, but you forget I spent time as a valet as well. I probably shouldn't tell you this, but men _do_ confide in one another the way women do. Sometimes."

Elsie put a hand up. "I understand, Charles."

He snatched her hand and kissed it. "I have never been more terrified than I was in the days and nights leading up to last night," he admitted. "But then I saw you in this room, in that gown that's currently thrown over a chair in the corner, and … well ... it's not really a great mystery, is it?" Charles leaned over and kissed her, a soft brush of the lips that she pressed herself into and deepened, her free hand clutching at his arm and pulling her closer.

"No," she breathed when they parted. "I suppose it's not."

She laid back on the bed, pulling him over her. "So, my darling man. What else do you remember from all your 'listening'?"

He smirked, then waggled his eyebrows at her. "Oh, Mrs. Carson, I'd be more than happy to show you."

 **oOoOoOoOo**

It was nearly lunchtime when they woke, having dozed off for about an hour after their passionate morning in bed. Charles opened his eyes first, and he smiled as he realized Elsie was snoring gently on his shoulder. His arm ached horribly, but it was well worth it to have woken up with her lying on top of it.

He did need to shift soon after, though, and Elsie woke with a start when he did.

"I'm famished," she announced in a scratchy voice that made her husband chuckle with no small amount of pride; after all, it was due to his ministrations that she'd been crying out with pleasure not two hours ago.

"As am I," he admitted.

They extracted themselves from the sheets and took turns in the en-suite, and a comfortable silence settled between them. It was a welcome familiarity between the new lovers who'd spent so much of the last twelve hours vacillating between nervousness and passion.

"You look beautiful, Elsie." Charles approached her as she was pinning her hair up, and he settled his hands gently upon her waist. "Glowing."

She finished putting in the last pin and turned, encircling his neck loosely in her arms. "I wonder whose fault that is." Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed him chastely. "I've never been happier than I am today, Charlie."

He laughed. "I've not been _Charlie_ since I was fourteen years old."

"Well, then, I'd say it's a good job I'm bringing that back. It's like you said earlier," she said, thoughtful. "It's a small thing that makes you a little more vulnerable, and it's something I daresay only I will ever be able to call you."

"Undoubtedly."

Just then, her stomach emitted a rather loud growl.

"It's time to feed you," he chuckled, and she nodded.

"I still have to get my shoes on," she reminded him. "And then I'll be ready."

"Good. I have a feeling you'll need a great deal of food to build your energy back up."

She glanced up at him, smiled, and reached for her shoes.

"I'm sure."

* * *

 **A/N: The main idea for this story is to provide glimpses into married Chelsie. Not the big stuff, but the little things that make up a marriage. Open to requests/suggestions and my thanks to the dastardly duo who've already lobbed a bunch my way! I get by with a LOT of help from my friends, but that's A-OK by me.**  
 **Please let me know what you thought!**


	2. Laundry

_**Love Nest, early morning**_

Elsie grimaced at the clicks her neck gave off as she stretched, but similar cracks from her spine had her sighing with relief. They'd been back from Scarborough barely a week, settling into something that resembled a new routine. And while neither of them would have changed it for the world, the fact remained that it was extra work not living at the abbey. It meant rising earlier in the morning, for one thing, and she and Charlie hadn't managed to have an evening meal together in their new home yet due to the catching up each had needed to do upon their return. Elsie was able to get up early enough on the last two mornings to at least prepare a pot of tea and some toast in her own kitchen, but she didn't feel that counted as anything resembling a meal. It was a double-edged sword, however, because it had been decades since she'd even _prepared_ more than tea and toast, and she honestly wasn't sure whether or not she'd be up to the task when the day came.

But Mondays, as this particular day was, were one of the two staff laundry days. It didn't mean a great deal more work for Elsie - her days of scrubbing on the board til her hands were raw were long gone and not missed one bit - but it did mean rising a bit early to bundle their things in order to carry them up to the big house instead of simply placing them aside for one of the laundry maids to fetch from her room.

With a soft sigh and a small yawn, Elsie turned to see Charles's quietly slumbering profile in the faint light of the room. She slipped ever-so-gently from the bed, donning her robe and tying the sash as she stepped over her nightgown on her way to the door. She stopped and looked back at it, then retrieved it. She wasn't even really sure why she'd bothered putting it on, and she quietly folded it and set it on the chair in the corner, not wanting the creaking of the wardrobe door to wake her sleeping husband. As she did so, a loud snore from Charles had her covering her mouth with her fingers, stuffing a giggle back down her throat as she watched him tumble over and pull the covers more tightly around himself. She turned and padded downstairs to put on the tea.

Half an hour later, Elsie was finished dressing and decided to rouse her husband by trailing her fingertips down his jawline. She jumped when he snapped his head playfully to the side as if to bite her, but he kissed her fingers instead, and she caressed his cheek as she leaned over for a _proper_ kiss.

"Time to get up, sleepyhead," she cooed. "There's tea getting cold downstairs."

Charles slid his legs over the edge of the bed and rubbed his face, so much like a child that it warmed her heart and reminded her of his words from their honeymoon, about glimpses into these bits and bobs of their lives that made them appear almost vulnerable. Her heart surged and the now-familiar butterflies reappeared in her abdomen when he stretched, the muscles prominent in his shoulders and chest, and she had to move away lest she keep him in bed for much longer than was possible.

"I'll be downstairs," he heard her say, and he smiled, all too familiar already with the desire barely hidden in her soft tones.

Ten minutes later, Charles presented himself in the kitchen. Elsie poured him a fresh cup of tea before disappearing back up the stairs for the laundry items. When she returned, Charles's eyes grew wide at the sight of her large bundle. He swallowed his bite of toast and then spoke.

"That looks like more than a couple days' worth."

"That's just because of the bed linens," she replied absentmindedly, depositing the bundle on the settee and returning to clean up the dirty dishes in the kitchen.

Charles was silent - for a long enough time that she turned to be sure he was well. "Charlie?"

He looked _mortified._

"You … You mean … the _sheets_?" he sputtered.

Elsie's brow wrinkled. "Yes," she said slowly. "It's Monday, Charles. Laundry day?"

No response.

"When we wash the things that need washing?" She couldn't help her slightly condescending tone; they'd be late if they didn't get up and moving soon, and there was simply no way that Downton's senior staff - senior _newlywed_ staff - could present themselves late for work the week after their honeymoon.

"You're bringing our _sheets_ to be laundered by a maid at _Downton_?" He was nearly apoplectic at the thought, and she finally cottoned on after a moment and promptly rolled her eyes.

"Charlie," she explained patiently with a gentle sigh, "I certainly don't have enough time to do them here. What are you so afraid of, anyhow? I mean, they _do_ need to be done."

He was completely astounded at how she could be so cavalier about the very idea.

"We'll be late if you don't get yourself together," she reminded him, causing him to pull out his pocket watch and verify the veracity of her statement.

She was, of course, completely correct, a detail which certainly did not help his state of mind.

With a gentle roll of her eyes, she laid her hand on his arm. "Charlie," she said with patience she wasn't sure she had enough of, "Esther does the sheets."

"Esther?" he asked, confused.

"Esther," she repeated. "Esther, the one who comes in from the village three days a week? Esther, who is _married_ and has five children?" She looked pointedly at him, and smiled when she saw her words register.

"Five children," he said. "So she's … I mean …" He heaved a great sigh.

"So she's washed a good deal of dirty sheets in her day, I'd wager. Yes."

She was teasing him now, which he didn't feel he deserved but didn't really want to argue about, either. She was also leaning over for a kiss, which he gladly provided.

"It's just all so new," he said quietly.

"I know," she replied understandingly. "And I'm sure it's embarrassing for you as well." She held in the rest of what she was going to say, about how the very thing he was worried about had everything to do with the type of marriage that _he_ had so passionately declared to Mrs. Patmore - and, later, to Elsie - was so very important to him.

"I'm not embarrassed by anything we do," he clarified. He stood up from his chair, pulled her close, and kissed her forehead. "I just don't wish to share it with the entire world."

Elsie shook her head gently, her lip slightly drawn under her teeth as her eyes crinkled from her smile. "I know. But trust me, Charlie. If you don't pay any attention to those sheets, no one else will, either."

He released her and rinsed his cup and plate, then watched as she fixed her hat in the mirror. He marveled at how she could pin it so quickly and not harm herself in the process.

"What?" she asked, catching his gaze in the mirror.

"Nothing," he said, smiling. "Just you."

Elsie turned and picked up the laundry bundle, allowing Charles to open the door for her and then lock it behind them. "What about me?"

He looked up and down the street to verify that no one was about, then surprised her by placing a firm kiss to her lips, one that left her rather breathless where she stood on their front stoop.

"You're marvelous," he declared. "What you ever saw in an old curmudgeon like me, I'll never know."

"Well, then, let's hope I have a great many years to show you."

* * *

 _ **A/N: Huge thanks to all of you who came back for another chapter, and to all of you who left a review - I was absolutely blown away by them all! This won't be a typical fic, in the sense that it will have no actual PLOT; rather, consider it a bunch of different peeks in on our favorite couple. Hopefully you all continue to enjoy it! It will be mostly fluff, although some chapters will involve them seeing and supporting one another through difficult things, too. (And kisses, hugs, caresses, and touches. Those things will feature prominently.)**_

 _ **Thanks again to all of you for your wonderful support! xxx**_

 _ **CSotA**_


	3. Little Things

**I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get back to this story. Life has been full of joy and also a bit of stress, and I've been insanely busy all summer. I appreciate all of the sweet reviews you've all left and promise I have much more in store for these two.**

 **This small installment, a twist on one of my favorite themes for these two, that happiness is in the _little things,_ is for the lovely ceeceesings as she celebrates her birthday - a bit of fluffy Chelsie for one of the people who brings so much Chelsie (and Richobel) joy into MY life. Blessings to you, sweet friend. xxx**

 **CSotA**

* * *

 ** _Downton Village, Sunday afternoon_**

The sun was _hot_ that day. Charles wagered, as he matched his steps with Elsie's, that he hadn't experienced the like since he was a lad, when the drought had taken virtually all of the crops on his grandparents' farmland. Glancing sideways at Elsie, he noted the heightened flush in her cheeks, and a few beads of perspiration trailing down her neck … a sight which made _him_ flush, for reasons altogether unrelated to the beating sun. But for once he was glad her hand wasn't anywhere near the crook of his elbow; it was simply too hot to touch anything or anyone.

"You could take the jacket off," Elsie said quietly by his side.

"I couldn't possibly!" He turned to stare at her, mouth agape, and she giggled.

"You _could,_ possibly, if you were any man other than Charles Carson." She pointed up ahead of them. "You didn't scold Andrew for taking his off. Even Mr. Bates has his unbuttoned, and he's as much a stickler for propriety as you are."

"Hmph."

Elsie took in the sight of her husband, clearly suffering, and sighed. He'd been through a great many changes over the past two months – all of them involving _her_ – and it wouldn't do well to chide him more than she already had.

"Five hours," she said instead.

Charles thought of their small cottage, of its fortuitous placement amongst tall, shady trees, trees that were undoubtedly protecting it from the brunt of the sun's rays today, and smiled.

"Five hours."

 **oOoOoOoOo**

Immediately upon entering their cottage five and three-quarter hours later, Elsie quite ungraciously toed off her shoes and kicked them into the corner by the coat rack as her husband looked on in disbelief.

"Don't you dare," she said, placing her hand gently on his stomach and standing on her tiptoes for a small peck on the lips. "I'm lucky to have been able to get them off. I think my feet are a bit swollen, to tell the truth." She paused, and then added in an embarrassed murmur, "I probably could have kept that to myself, I suppose. Not terribly attractive."

But Charles, bless him, merely pulled her a little closer and kissed her forehead. "Oh, but you are, Elsie."

 _Elsie._ She became Elsie again when she walked through their door, and it was one of her happiest moments of the day.

They meandered upstairs to shed their work attire and change into lighter things – _pyjamas,_ Elsie insisted, despite the early hour. Much to her surprise, Charles readily agreed.

Twenty minutes later, they were seated at the table, a small platter of cold sandwiches and a pitcher of cider between them. They were mostly silent, enjoying the coolness of home and the comfort of it being just the two of them once again.

"I'm enjoying the quiet," Charles remarked just before placing the last of the sandwiches on his own plate. "Today in particular, I mean."

Elsie nodded. "Yes, I knew what you meant. You know, I was afraid of it when we first got back." She didn't say from where, but he knew she meant Scarborough, the place where they'd each felt the entire trajectory of their lives had changed, where paths once diverging and meeting only once in a while were now running steadily side by side. "Of missing the sounds, the creaking of the house. I was a bit afraid I wouldn't be able to sleep."

He raised his eyebrows, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

"That seems to have been a ridiculous fear," she admitted, returning his smirk and an acknowledgement in her own eyes of how she slept better than ever with him beside her.

"Indeed."

Charles helped clear the table but returned to his seat while Elsie washed up. He'd offered to help her once, but she'd refused, saying he'd only be in her way. So he sat and watched instead, her efficient movements and approach to such a mundane task comforting to him, the one who'd spent years watching her in a variety of other settings. His wife had been concerned she'd be uncomfortable in the cottage because of the quiet, but it had been Charles who'd worried that the familiarity of it all would be his downfall – not the obvious, intense intimacies she'd fretted over before their wedding, but these smaller things like washing dishes in pajamas, or walking around in one's stocking feet when it was warm, in worn slippers when not, or the sight of her feet tucked up underneath her legs when she was on the settee, or his comb on the shelf next to-

"Charlie?"

She roused him from his thoughts with a gentle touch to his shoulder. "Away with the fairies, then, were you?"

His smile was easy as he nodded and rose from the chair. "I was, at that. Seems to keep happening these days."

"Married life addling your brain already?" she asked softly, reaching up to brush the wayward curl from his forehead. After so many years of _wanting_ to do just that one small, simple thing, she found she couldn't stop herself from touching it whenever it fell.

"Something like that." He took her hand as they made their way to the bedroom, knowing without needing to ask that she was exhausted from endless trips up and down the stairs and the horrendously hot walk back from town after church.

She bathed while he sat against the headboard with his book, sighing with happiness as he heard the soft splashes coming from the bathroom and then with frustration as he squinted a bit at the words on the page. Elsie had been at him to purchase some reading spectacles, and Charles was finding it hard to argue with that unpleasant thought for much longer. He'd not realized the need before, but the lighting in the cottage was softer than it had been in his old room, and the words blurred on the page in a way they hadn't at the abbey.

He made it through a full chapter before Elsie returned to him, the hair at the nape of her neck damp from the tub. A waft of lavender made its way to his nose as he watched her rub hand crème into her knuckles before climbing into the bed beside him.

"Thank you for running the bath for me when you were in there," she sighed, reaching for his hand. It was still warm in the room, despite only the light sheet covering them both and the shade from the trees outside, and she was not wont to tuck herself into the warmth of his body tonight. He squeezed her fingers, perhaps not quite of the same mind as he leaned over to brush his lips across her ear and whisper, "You're welcome."

"Don't you start, Charlie," she laughed, resting her head on his shoulder. "As much as I love you, I'm finally cooled off for the first time today."

"I know," he replied, backing off and fluffing his pillow. He laid on his side, facing her, taking her hand in his and tucking them both against his chest. "But you're not the only one who gets to tease."

Elsie just shook her head. "I do love you," she whispered.

He couldn't help it; his eyes filled, and he swallowed the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat.

Elsie, ever observant, removed her hand from his grasp and brushed his tears away with her thumb.

"Charles Carson," she whispered, her eyes roaming his face. "Emotional to the core."

"Don't tell."

She leaned over and placed a solid kiss to his lips.

"Never," she replied, and they both drifted off to a dreamless sleep.


	4. Needing

**A/N: An early birthday pressie for meetmeinstlouie/belovedrival, whose physical gift will be woefully late. Much love to you, sweets - here, have some fluff whilst you wait!**

 **(Lovingly beta'd by Hogwarts Duo - thank you, sweets!)**

 **xxx,**

 **CSotA**

* * *

 _ **Love Nest; a summer night**_

It was just past midnight at the cottage, but Charles and Elsie were wide awake. Her lips ghosted over his shoulder, eliciting a soft sigh from his mouth as his strong fingers grasped her hip more tightly, pulling her down on top of him.

"You'll be exhausted by noon," he told her, his voice raspy and deep, but she shushed him with a finger laid over his lips, shifting her body so that she was straddling his thighs.

"Don't you worry about me," she murmured.

Charles tipped his head slightly back, looked her in the eyes, and smirked. She didn't have time to react before he reached up to place a kiss to her collarbone, lingering as she readjusted her position slightly.

"Charlie," she gasped, resting her hands on his shoulders for balance.

From there, they slipped into the familiar dance, an exchange of touches and kisses, sighs and moans, an occasional nip _here_ and several more hot kisses _there_ as they worked toward the familiar goal, one which they reached with relative ease and a great deal of joy as the moonlight peeked through the open window.

They collapsed together, facing each other as they caught their breath.

"Well," he uttered, clearing his throat and reaching over to pull a damp lock of hair from where it had draped over her face.

She chuckled. "'Well,' what? Can't a wife keep her husband up late now and then?"

"It's the fact that you _want_ to that still amazes me." Even his voice was full of wonder, albeit laced with a bit of fatigue.

"Well, I do," she said. "It surprises _me_ most of the time, let alone _you._ Although then, when I think on it, it really shouldn't." She leaned up on one elbow and kissed him soundly. "Surely a wife is allowed to enjoy a - what did you call it? - a 'full marriage with all that entails' as much as her husband?"

He readily agreed before scooting down and resting his head on her chest.

"I can hear your heart beating," he said after a while.

"I would certainly hope so," she smiled.

He yawned widely, sated and tired from their bout of activity moments earlier. "I know I'm the one here with a day off tomorrow. But you need some sleep too, love."

"Oh, yes," she replied. "I have a desk full of paperwork ahead of me, but you've got an English garden to finish planting." She giggled and felt the rasp of his cheek's stubble against her skin as he smiled. "You'll likely need new trousers when you've finished with all that."

"A good reason to take my half day and full day concurrently though," he replied. "I hope the surprise was worth it. I know you were a bit confused when I put in the request with his Lordship."

Her thoughts turned to yesterday, late afternoon, when she'd come home to find her husband covered in … well, a mess. His hair had been sticking out at all angles, his face dotted with dirt, and his trousers a shade or two darker than they'd been when she'd left him that morning.

But his smile! Oh, his smile had been brighter than she'd seen in a while. And the _pride_ on his face? She smiled in the moonlight as she became wrapped up in the memory ...

" _What's all that?" she asked._

 _Charles looked down at his fists, in which were clenched various plants._

" _This one is clematis. It should bloom pink." He tilted his head to something new in the ground by the front step. "Roses - white - and dark violets are going in next."_

" _Violets?" She raised an eyebrow, unable to hold in her laughter, which came bubbling forth almost immediately. "Just what I need in my home_ _ **away**_ _from the abbey."_

" _I know, but they balance the colours in the garden." He crouched down carefully and planted the clematis, expertly patting the dirt around the stems and taking a moment to water them. But when he stood and made to kiss his wife, she kept him at arm's length - literally - by placing her hand on his chest._

 _"No touching my dress, or else I'll have to spend time washing it after dinner instead of curling up with you."_

" _Fair enough, Elsie," he replied, leaning forward with just pursed lips extended. "These don't have dirt on them, do they?" he added playfully, his lips still ready for his kiss and his voice therefore a bit muffled._

" _They do not." She leaned in for a quick peck._

" _Surprise, love. Happy early birthday."_

 _She beamed, her heart completely full. "I can't ever thank you enough for this, Charlie. It's just as we'd talked about."_

" _There's no need for any special thanks. It's a gift to us both, something else which makes our house a home."_

 _She kissed him again for good measure. "Now, go up and have a bath, you daft man, and I'll get the stew in the oven …"_

He shifted his weight a bit lower, bringing her back to their present circumstance. "Aye.. It was more than worth it, Charlie." Elsie carded her fingers through his silver locks. "Your hair is so soft," she whispered. "I'd always wondered what it would feel like in my hands."

Charles glanced up at her. "Did you?"

"Mmm." She nodded. "I did. Many times." She ruffled it now, mussing what she'd just put to rights, and he chuckled, his deep voice vibrating through his chest and across her hip as she made a small confession. "I touched it once before, you know. Before we made our intentions known."

"You never did!"

"Oh, yes, Charlie. Only the once, mind you, when you were ill. It was a year before you proposed. You had that nasty cold, remember?"

"Ah, I _do_ remember that. Just before Christmastime. Awful time to be ill when you're the butler," he grumbled.

"Awful time for the housekeeper to lose her right-hand man, too," she retorted.

He brushed his thumb over her calf. "I think I'd remember you running your beautiful fingers through my hair, though, even if I were ill at the time."

"You were sleeping," she explained simply. "I'd gone up with your medication, which I had fully intended to leave with Thomas, except that I'd forgotten he'd be attending to his Lordship that night in Mr. Bates's absence. So I let myself in, placed it on the nightstand …" She sighed, her heart and chest full of love. "You were so peaceful, Charles, so relaxed in your sleep that I could almost imagine you as a young lad."

He hummed, enraptured by the wonder in her voice.

"And that lock of hair that I'm forever fiddling with? Well, it was just by your eye. I was loath to let anything wake you, so I reached out and carefully tucked it back up." She hesitated.

"Elsie?"

"I … I needed to. I needed _you,_ I understand that now. It was as if I couldn't leave until I reached out to you in some way."

"And look at us now," was his answer.

"Just so."

She moved over when he stirred a little bit later, allowing him to roll off of her chest and reclaim his pillow.

"Is your hand bothering you?" she asked quietly, and he nodded before kissing her forehead and rolling onto his other side, his back to her. She snuggled up behind him, wrapping her arm over her big bear of a man and squeezing tightly. He surprised her, though, when his hand captured hers, lifted it to his lips, and placed a warm kiss just below her knuckles.

"Love you," he mumbled, his voice already sleepy.

She kissed the spot just between his shoulder blades. "I know you do," she murmured.

"And I needed you, too," he whispered. "I always have, Elsie."

She squeezed him again and tucked herself in. "I know," she whispered.

* * *

 **I'd love a wee review if you have a moment! And if you have a special request for a small snippet of the Carsons' married life you'd like to see in this story, send it along and I'll see what I can do. xx**


	5. Needing More

**A/N: This story isn't meant to have an overarching plot, per se, but this chapter** _ **is**_ **intended to serve as a follow-up to the last. It's my entry for #unofficialdas9 this week, as I wasn't quite able to move ahead with the next chapter of "Welcome Home."**

 **I want to thank all the guest reviewers whom I cannot thank in person. I appreciate all of your words so very, very much. And a special nod of thanks to ericajanebarry, who used the idea of "needing" so beautifully in her amazing Richobel fic "Can't Quit You" and who gave me her blessing to proceed with a somewhat similar conversation I'd already outlined here. If you've not read her modern Richobel world, you're truly missing out on something beautiful.**

 **xxx,**

 **CSotA**

* * *

 _ **Downton Abbey - Housekeeper's Sitting Room**_

 _ **A Tuesday afternoon in December**_

Beryl Patmore stood in the housekeeper's open doorway, watching with a smirk on her face as Elsie yawned quite widely for the fourth time in an hour. The cook balanced her tray on her hip long enough to rap twice on the door jamb before proceeding into the room, setting the tray down, and shutting the door gently behind herself.

"Bless you," Elsie nearly gushed when she turned and spied the steaming pot of tea and the rather generous pile of fresh Christmas biscuits.

"Well, you seem to be a bit tired," Beryl replied, pouring them each a cup as Elsie joined her at the side table. Beryl handed her a cup and then placed the biscuits between them. "Trouble sleeping?"

Elsie opened her mouth to reply, then closed it abruptly. "Something like that," she finally said, taking a bite of a shortbread square.

"I hope you're not unwell. Daisy's been a bit under the weather this week."

Elsie looked over at her friend, not startled at all to find the cook's sharp eyes examining her intently. She raised an eyebrow and met the stare.

"Mrs. Patmore," she said calmly and quietly, "we both know perfectly well that you didn't come in here out of concern for my health."

"Do we now?" Beryl sipped her tea.

"We do. Whilst you're quick to provide a hot cuppa in your kitchen, I am rarely blessed with a heavily-stocked tray, unrequested by me, in my office."

They drank their tea in a relatively companionable silence for a while, and then Beryl sighed heavily.

"Fine. I wasn't going to ask. I really wasn't, but I need to."

Elsie swallowed, suddenly finding something on the edge of her teacup _very_ interesting as she waited for what was sure to be an entirely inappropriate question for a Tuesday afternoon.

"Are you retiring, Mrs. Hughes?" Beryl blurted out, and Elsie's head snapped up so fast that the cook jumped.

" _Retiring?_ Why in the world would I be retiring?"

Beryl licked her lips, and something almost melancholic passed over her face. "Well, life's different for you now, isn't it? It's got to be." She looked her friend straight in the eyes. "You've had a happiness about you lately, make no mistake. It shows, and it's _good._ But your eyes are tired some days, too, and I wondered if you felt you'd be better off without waking before dawn and slaving away all day with the likes of us."

"My _eyes_ are tired?" Elsie reached up and touched her fingertips to her face as she fought against blushing from embarrassment.

"And the rest of you, I'd wager." The words slipped out, and Beryl's own eyes widened as she realized how that must have sounded. "I didn't mean _that,_ " she added quickly, but then she cast an appraising look at the housekeeper once again and tilted her head. "Well, probably _that_ , too," she murmured. "In a good way, I mean."

Elsie pursed her lips, ignoring the heat that she knew had finally reddened her cheeks. "I'm not sure _what_ you mean anymore."

"Right." Beryl reached for the teapot and refilled both their cups before sitting back in her chair again. "I was just wondering. I'll take your response as a _no._ "

Elsie sipped at her tea. "Mr. Carson and I have always tried to see to it that nothing would change here since we married. We've tried to keep the same standards, keep everything at an even keel. I hope you're not noticing anything different, anything slipping?" A tiny seed of worry began to bloom in her belly. _Had_ things at Downton begun to slip? Elsie's work meant a great deal to her, but it had been Charlie's entire life up until their marriage; after all, it was only in the last couple of months that she'd become completely secure in her knowledge that, in Charlie's eyes, she wasn't second to the grand estate and the family who lived in it in.

"Nothing is slipping, you daft woman," Beryl replied with a roll of the eyes. "Don't you worry about that. But you _are_ different now. The both of you." She was afraid her words had stung, but her friend only smiled softly at the words.

"I suppose," Elsie agreed quietly, thinking back to how Downton's stern, demanding butler had planted a charming flower garden for his wife on her last birthday. "I suppose I _am_ different," she continued quietly, more assuredly. "But I can't retire. Not yet." She held the rest of the words in, a story of a sister and a plan and a _need,_ words that would come out at another time but which weren't meant for today. She remembered something dear William once said, something she'd never alluded to again until that moment. "I feel, despite my age and the clicks in my neck and the silver in my hair, that I'm still needed here. Perhaps it seems boastful to say so, but there it is."

"No, it doesn't." Beryl paused, contemplating her friend once again. "But _he_ needs you, too. And not just as his right hand to keep this place afloat. And if you ask me -"

"I didn't," Elsie pointed out, but Beryl continued as though she hadn't been interrupted.

"- you'll need to find a better way to manage your free time. That is, if you want to stop coming into this place half asleep in the morning." She leaned in and whispered, "It's the third time in two months."

Elsie's cheeks flushed an even deeper red, and Beryl took that as an end to their conversation. She rose and began to clear the dishes.

"Leave the biscuits with my tea, please," Elsie asked her as she, too, stood up. "If you don't mind. I presume you didn't bring that many for just the two of us."

Beryl laughed. "No, I didn't. I'm sure he'll be in soon enough." She picked up the tray, turning to face the housekeeper one more time.

"I didn't mean to be poking my nose in where it doesn't belong this time, truly. I'm just worried about you is all." She smiled. "We _do_ need you here. I can't imagine this place running so well without the both of you at the helm."

Elsie's mind flashed to Charles, to the affliction of his hands which he'd only recently confessed to her. She wondered how long it would be before the ever-astute cook noticed it too. "Thank you for that."

"There's no need to thank me. I'm just not certain that this house _should_ be your priority anymore. Not entirely."

"I can't just shirk my responsibilities," Elsie said.

"No," Beryl replied with a smirk. "Just don't let the new ones keep you up all night anymore."

And, with that, she left the room, leaving Elsie to stare agape at her retreating form. She wasn't quite sure how long she remained there replaying their conversation in her mind before Charlie's familiar knock sounded on the door.

"You look as though you've had a shock," he said, rushing to her side. He took her hand in his and gently squeezed it. "Are you all right?"

"I am," she reassured him, resting her hand on his chest and stretching up to place a kiss to his cheek. "Mrs. Patmore stopped in. She left you some biscuits."

Charles looked over to the table. "Shortbread," he commented happily. "I thought I smelled that." He moved over to take one, then turned his attentions back to his wife. "What did she want, besides to offer up a hot cuppa?"

Elsie hesitated. "Oh, you know. Just a chat between women."

Charles inhaled sharply, then coughed a bit as he nearly choked on his biscuit. Elsie handed him her tea, which he sipped gratefully.

"All right?" she asked with a smirk.

"Perfectly fine," he replied. "And well done. I don't think I _want_ to know now what she had to say."

Elsie sat beside the table, waving for Charles to follow suit. The familiarity of the scene comforted her mind, which was now buzzing with myriad thoughts.

"You should know, though," she decided. "She thought we were planning to retire - or, at least, she was worried that I might be."

His eyes grew wide. "Why on earth would she think that?"

"Because I'm _different_ now, apparently." She reached across the table for his hand, laying hers palm up and welcoming the warmth of his own. "Because she sees that we have another priority, something besides our work here."

"That's not really anything _she_ needs to worry about."

Elsie raised her eyebrow. "Well, she commented that I'm often tired during the day, and she insinuated that I might not have the energy to keep up with my work _and_ my handsome husband and still get enough rest."

Charles muttered, "Little does she know that's more to do with _your_ insistence than mine, woman."

"And we'll not mention that to her, thank you very much. Besides, you're equally to blame in my book. Anyhow _,_ I reassured her that we've no such plans." She looked over at her husband, thought of the upcoming wedding and the suspicions that she had about Lady Mary's recent fatigue. "You've got a lot left to give to this family, I'd wager. And I don't envision retiring anytime soon myself."

"I'm not so sure about me," Charles replied, taking his hand from hers and holding it out to show her the trembling. "I hate to admit it, Elsie, but I think, for me, it might be almost that time."

She heard so much sadness behind his words, so much defeat, and it threatened to shatter her.

"Don't put the cart before the horse, Charlie," she whispered. "Not yet."

He finished his second biscuit, then reached over and pushed her door closed.

"Elsie, do you remember the day I planted the garden?"

She nodded.

"You said to me that you needed me, and I told you that I needed you as well, that I always have."

"I do remember that, of course."

Charles twisted his hands in his lap, massaging the weaker one with the stronger. "I've been thinking about that quite a lot lately. About what it's like to truly need someone." He looked over at her again. "For such a long time, I needed this house, this _family,_ because I felt it was the only way I'd ever have either one." He licked his lips, contemplative, and she waited. "But now I wonder how much of my need was wrapped up in the fact that _you_ were here, that it was _you_ I couldn't live without, and not the livery or the family or the responsibility."

"Oh, Charlie," she whispered. "Perhaps it was both?"

"Perhaps." He smiled sadly. "I think, soon, I'll be forced to give one of them up. And then I'll _truly_ need you, Elsie, as I never have before."

She stood abruptly, approached him, and he wrapped his arms around her as she cradled his head against her corseted waist, brushing his hair softly with her fingers. She contemplated his words, which spoke of feelings deeper than most he'd ever confessed to her in the past, and found it remarkable that he did so here in her sitting room and not cosseted away in the privacy of their cottage. That fact alone spoke of a different need, of one more pressing on him in this moment - a need to quell his own fears, for which he'd done the first thing that came to his mind: he reached out for his wife.

It filled her heart, and she cherished that feeling for a long while before answering him.

"You know you'll have me, Charles." She remembered back to that conversation on her birthday and took his head between her hands, tipping it back gently so she could look down into his eyes, which were misty with a blend of love, apprehension, and sadness. "You always have," she whispered, and she bent to kiss him gently on the lips. "But we are _not_ at that point in our circumstances quite yet, love. Now, you've got a wine order to finish sorting, and I've got to get these figures done that have eluded me all day."

"Hard time focusing in your fatigue?" he asked playfully.

"Revolving door of visitors, don't you know?" She backed up so that he could stand. Then, in an unusual rush of emotion, stepped forward and caught him in a tight embrace, her arms wrapped around his waist as she rested her head over his heart.

"That's because you receive them with such fervor, apparently," he teased, his sadness swept aside in a flood of her love.

"Especially you, Mr. Carson," she replied. "Especially you."

 _tbc_

* * *

 **As always, I'd love a wee review if you'd be so kind. Many thanks for reading!**


	6. Between Friends

**For a couple of friends who could use a bit of Chelsie love this week. I hope this delivers.**  
 **xxx,**  
 **CSotA**

* * *

The sun was nearly down, the air crisp with the coming of autumn. In the distance a fox darted across the path, likely chasing her evening meal. Charles looked sideways at his wife, her face half-hidden beneath the brim of her hat.

Elsie's gaze was focused downward as she kept a keen eye on the leaves strewn about the path, their undersides wet from the early afternoon's rain. Her steps were in sync with Charlie's, her fingers lightly clasped in his from the moment they'd rounded the bend at the end of the abbey's long, winding drive. She smiled as she remembered the soft, familiar touch of his lips on her cheek and the murmured greeting he'd whispered in her ear when she met him in the doorway of her parlor.

"He's going to ask her this coming weekend." Charles's deep voice interrupted her musings, and the sentence hung between them, heavy and needing attention. He'd expected a reply of some sort; a gasp, perhaps, or a swift turn of her head.

 _Nothing._

"I'd have thought you'd be a bit happier about that, truth be told."

Elsie turned and saw the surprise on his face. "Oh, I'm happy about it, Charlie. Believe me. It's just … are you _sure_?"

He glanced and saw the soft biting of her lip, the furrow on her brow, and smiled.

"You doubt me."

They reached the cottage, where Elsie withdrew the key and unlocked the door. She deposited her handbag on the hall table and turned to the mirror to unpin her hat.

"I don't doubt you. It just seems strange he'd have _told_ you, that's all." She placed her hat on the shelf and, after a brief hesitation and a glance out at the setting sun, began unwinding her pinned plait. "I mean, wouldn't it be better as a complete surprise?"

"You've got a headache," her husband murmured knowingly, ignoring her last comment. "I'll make you a cup of tea, right after ..." He moved to stand behind her and placed his strong fingers on her temples and his thumbs at the base of her skull. "... this." He tipped her head forward as he began gently massaging away some of the tension of her day.

"That feels wonderful," she breathed.

Charles continued massaging for another minute or two, until she moved away to deposit her hairpins on the table beside the bag. "Better?"

"A bit, yes."

She followed him to the dining room, where she leaned against the door jamb and watched him as he filled the kettle and got it on the hob.

"There's some chicken left from last night," Charles said. "Would you rather soup or sandwiches?"

"Soup, I think, if you've no preference."

The water boiled soon after and Charles filled the teapot, the steam rising to his face as the fragrance from the contact of water and tea leaves filled the room. Elsie smiled sweetly as he brought the tray through, and she got up and led the way into the parlor, wanting a bit more comfort than the stiff wooden dining chairs would provide.

Charles deposited the tray on their small coffee table. "I'll leave you to pour and I'll just be a few moments in the kitchen. Put your feet up, love, and let the tea do its work."

"I can take care of dinner, Charles," she protested lightly, but he refused to allow it.

"I can manage a few carrots and potatoes just fine," he replied.

Elsie looked over at him, her eyes full of love as she acquiesced. "All right," she said quietly. "Thank you."

She filled her cup and sat back on the settee, allowing the warmth from the tea to soothe her. A few slow, deep breaths through her nose helped to clear her head, and she allowed her body to relax as she took the first tentative sip. After a few moments, she heard the sound of chopping coming from the kitchen.

"There's stock in the icebox," she called back to him.

"I've already found it!"

' _He's going to ask her this coming weekend.'_

Elsie could hardly believe it. If she were feeling one hundred percent, she reckoned she'd be beaming from ear to ear.

 _Beryl Patmore,_ she thought, and she chuckled. _Soon to be Beryl_ _ **Mason**_ _._

 _Finally._

* * *

The soup was delicious, and after eating a bowl of it and swallowing a headache powder with a second cup of tea, Elsie was beginning to feel more herself again. She cleared the table and they took care of the dishes together - she washed, and he dried and put them away.

"Your hand is doing well tonight," Elsie observed.

"It is." Charles smiled, and then he impulsively reached out and snaked his arm around his wife's body, pulling her close and placing two short kisses to her lips. "You were quiet at dinner, but I know you're itching to ask about my afternoon, Elsie. How about a sherry by the fire?"

She laughed. "Perfect. And you'd better believe that I wish to know the entire sordid story."

"It's hardly _that,_ " Charles replied, reaching for the sherry glasses and the decanter. "But I have no qualms about admitting that it's nice being the one who has the details for a change."

He made sure the fire was going strong before they settled back on the settee. Elsie sat in the corner opposite her husband, facing him and tucking her toes underneath his thigh.

"So …" she prompted him. "I presume you went for a pint at the pub?"

"Actually, no," Charles said. "I went for a walk. It was quite mild after the rain and I was restless, and I ended up going by the farm. Mr. Mason was outside mending the fence and said that my unexpected appearance must be some sort of sign. I wasn't sure about that, but he appeared quite serious." He sipped his sherry. "He asked if I had time to sit, said he had something he'd like to discuss with me. Naturally, I couldn't refuse."

"Nor would you want to." She was proud to see the contentment in her husband's eyes and grateful for the kinship he'd found with Mr. Mason, the kindly farmer whose calm and steady (and more frequent, since last New Year) presence at the abbey had put him in the Carsons' paths on numerous occasions. Charlie had discovered that Mr. Mason had an extensive knowledge of English history, and that fact alone had almost guaranteed that a friendship would form between the two relatively isolated men.

"It does my heart good, Charlie, to see you have a friend in Mr. Mason."

"Mine, too," he admitted. "It's different than with anyone at the big house, or with you."

"And apparently we'll be seeing even more of him." Elsie's eyes widened as she had a sudden thought. "I wonder …"

"If she'll retire?" he asked, and she nodded. "Yes, that was one of my first thoughts, too. But who knows?" He took her glass, raising his eyebrows in silent question, but she shook her head, declining a refill. " _You_ didn't."

"I _couldn't,_ " she reminded him.

"You could have," he volleyed gently, "but I understand why you did not."

"She's ready, though," Elsie mused. "Her days used to be so long and full of frenzy, but nowadays I think she's bored senseless. There are hardly ever more than four of them at dinner on any given night, not unless Mr. Branson comes up for a meal."

"I know. Not like the old days, is it?"

They were quiet for a while, each reflecting on times gone by, until Elsie broke the silence.

"I'm sorry. I never let you get to the actual _story,_ Charlie. So, you sat. And how did the conversation go?"

"Well, he said he had something important on his mind and wanted to go about addressing it in the best way possible," Charles said. "I was fairly certain I knew where that was headed, but I let him approach it at his own speed."

He paused for a moment, and Elsie raised her eyebrows in a glorious imitation of him. "And?" she prompted.

She smirked when her husband cleared his throat. "I don't feel it's right to repeat it all verbatim, that's all."

"No, I'm sure you don't," she agreed, remembering back to _other_ conversations had with Mrs. Patmore herself, the ones straddling the fence between confidentiality and a need for certain information …

 _Oh, surely not,_ she thought.

"Charlie … He didn't convey worries of a … personal nature, did he?" she asked.

"Not precisely, no," Charles hedged. "But suffice to say he was a bit nervous. He doesn't want to frighten her, you see, and wanted to know if I thought she'd be amenable to the _idea_ of marrying him." He looked at Elsie pointedly. "Mind you, he didn't set me on the task of finding out."

"Good on him," she agreed, her cheeks pinking. "And it's different, Charlie. He's the only one of the four of us who's been married before, and I can safely confide in you that it does worry her a bit, that experience he has. Not just with … well, _that_ … but in all ways. Worries about expectations he'd have of her role in the household, her involvement in the farm. Fears that he only knows her as the cook at Downton, and a bit of it being her relationship with Daisy."

"He mentioned that specifically," Charles said. "He's worried she doesn't understand that his interest lies far beyond maintaining a familial relationship with Daisy."

"Oh," Elsie murmured, "I don't think that's anything he should be concerned with." She paused, admittedly for effect, and looked up at her husband as she added, "I mean, the man _has_ kissed her, after all."

"He's _what?_ " Charles's jaw dropped.

"I gather he withheld that little tidbit," Elsie giggled. "Well, he has. Once - two weeks ago."

"Well, now … I would assume that would have told him all he needed to know right then and there."

"Do you mean to say you can tell how someone feels about you just from a simple kiss?" Elsie asked. She was teasing, and they both knew it.

" _I_ can," Charles replied simply. "Perhaps later on I'll show you."

"Well, well, Mr. Carson. I may hold you to that."

"Good." He reached for her hand and placed feather-light kisses to her knuckles. "Now, the rest of the story is fairly basic. I listened to him and answered a few questions, mostly about the schedule at the house this week and when he might be able to get her away for an hour or so. He asked me to intervene with Daisy on his behalf in order to make that happen, and I managed that when I was waiting for you this afternoon. So now you and Daisy know, and it'll be of the utmost importance that neither of you give any hints!"

"Well, you may need to worry about Daisy, Charles," Elsie retorted, "but not me. I'm the keeper of the secrets, remember?"

He smiled fondly at her. "As a matter of fact, I do. You managed to keep _our_ understanding a secret for a full week."

"It was what you wanted," she said. "It wasn't easy, but it was important to you."

"I doubt Mrs. Patmore will have the same reserve," Charles said.

A log settled in the fireplace and Charles got up to poke the embers a bit and toss another piece of wood on. Elsie took advantage of his momentary absence from the settee to stand and stretch before refilling both their glasses and settling back down. He turned back to her and noted his refilled glass, then quirked an eyebrow at hers.

"I reconsidered," she said. She smiled up at him and watched as he unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, followed by his cuffs, which he rolled halfway up his forearms before settling back in next to her, his arm over the back of the settee so that she could tuck into his side.

"I'm glad you're feeling better." He sipped his sherry as they watched the log catch the fire. "So, when Mrs. Patmore comes rushing into your office with her news, what will you tell her?"

"I'll congratulate her, what do you think?"

"And if she asks for … advice? Asks about marriage and 'all that entails?'"

Elsie looked at the cut crystal glass in her hand, observing the way it picked up the light from the fire and the lamp on the table, how it refracted them a million different ways. "You mean to tease _me_ , now, Charlie," she said, "but it's a good question."

She was thoughtful for a bit before continuing. "I think I'll ask her if she loves him," she said. "I know she does, and I'm sure it's nearly all she's thought of the past few months, but it'll do her good to be able to say it aloud to someone instead of keeping it a secret that's tucked away in her heart."

Charles gave her a squeeze, and she pressed her cheek against his shoulder.

"And then I'll tell her that getting married to the man she loves is the best thing she'll ever do in her life. That it'll mean more than her career, more than anything. That …" Her voice became a murmur. "That the value of waking up next to her husband in the morning, or feeling his weight upon her at night, sometimes cannot be put into words."

"Would you say all that?"

"I would. I owe her that much, I think, to allay some of her fears after having put her in an uncomfortable position regarding my own."

His fingers danced over her arm. "I love you, Elsie."

He surprised her; it was usually Elsie who was more forward with those particular words. She turned from under his arm and placed a firm kiss on his lips.

"I know you do, you old curmudgeon," she murmured against them, and she kissed him once more. "Let's go up."

He smiled at her. "I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

Midnight had fallen by the time Charles fell asleep, his head heavy on his wife's breast. She trailed her fingers through his thick hair absentmindedly, thinking that it was quite an accurate assessment on Charlie's part that one could, in fact, tell quite a lot from just a kiss.

It was a kiss which had gotten her dress off tonight, after all, and a few more kisses placed in well-calculated places had kept Downton's housekeeper up very much past her bedtime.

She couldn't sleep, though, and envied Charles the ease with which he could nod off after they made love. It exhausted him, but it often invigorated her. She turned her attention to the window, through which she could spy the thinnest sliver of the waning moon.

Charles shifted, and Elsie moved her hand from his hair and rested it on his hip, where she smoothed the sheet over him. She was so very comfortable, and thought once more of the weight of him, of what she'd say to Beryl Patmore if ( _when,_ she knew) the woman asked a few more details about how marriage would change her life. Elsie would tell her friend that it had been like giving up a part of herself, surrendering the ability to be in control all the time, to be fully in charge of her own life … it had meant trusting another person to care for her without hurt or overbearing or condescension. Not every day was perfect, of course, but Elsie had found a quiet, meaningful happiness with Charlie, one that was interspersed with passion and laughter and warmth, and she had a very strong suspicion that Beryl would find something similar with Albert Mason.

Charles moved again and rolled over onto his side, his back to Elsie. She stretched and then curled up behind him, placing a kiss to his shoulder blade before pulling the covers up tightly underneath her chin.

"I love you, Charlie. Sleep well."

Five minutes later, Elsie was fast asleep.

* * *

 **I apologize that it's taken forever to get back to these little snippets into the Carsons' marriage. My thanks to CeeCeeSings for looking this over and letting me borrow a theme from her amazing fic, "A History of Moments."**

 **I'd love a review if you're so inclined. xxx**


	7. Keeping Secrets

**_Downton Village_**

Elsie pulled at her handbag, tucking the strap in the crook of her elbow before reaching up to brush at a lock of hair that had fallen from its carefully-pinned arrangement. A glance at the clock tower told her she had exactly three-fourths of an hour to make it home before her husband caught her out. She pursed her lips and quickened her steps, allowing only a soft "Thank you, Mrs. Watson" for the greengrocer's wife when the woman paused in the sweeping of the store's steps so that Elsie could pass and not be caught up in the dust. Mrs. Watson glanced curiously at the flush in Elsie's cheeks, but the housekeeper couldn't afford to stop and chat today.

She made it back to the cottage with plenty of time to spare and realized after going inside and finding Charlie's note that she needn't have hurried at all.

 _The Home Farm,_ she read, smiling. _A visit to Mr. Mason … And to the new puppy living there, no doubt,_ Elsie thought with a chuckle.

After laying the note on the side table, Elsie returned to her bag. From it, she withdrew two handkerchiefs. The satisfaction she felt was great, for when she'd left that morning the bag had contained not two, but fourteen. Fourteen carefully embroidered handkerchiefs, the patterns an assortment of florals in varied colors, a dozen of which had been sold to Mrs. Adams merely an hour ago. Word had passed quickly through the women in the town that Mrs. Carson, housekeeper of Downton Abbey and a true expert at embroidered needlework, was quietly crafting and selling a few goods to customers who might be in need of a small gift. Setting aside the handkerchiefs, Elsie retrieved the small packet of money she'd received from Mrs. Adams.

As she climbed the steps to their bedroom, she sighed happily as she calculated for perhaps the fifth time what the total of her earnings had been, and sent up a prayer for the fact that Charlie hadn't caught wind of what she was up to despite all the time he spent in town during her working hours. Village folk talk, but Elsie had asked them to keep her confidence in this; miraculously, they'd obeyed.

Elsie pulled down a small box from the shelf in the closet, then lifted the cover and took out the small photographs that lay on top of the pile of items – photos from Becky's home, which showed her sister in a variety of scenes: watching with rapt attention as a visiting choir performed for the residents last Easter; at a picnic on the grounds of the group home two summers ago; sitting by the fire last Christmastime as she clutched the doll Elsie and Charles had sent her. Elsie smiled wistfully at the last one, wondering if Becky would be well enough _this_ Christmas for a visit from her sister and brother-in-law.

Underneath the photographs was a small box. Elsie withdrew it and tipped back the hinged lid before taking out the bills and coins contained within. She counted them carefully and nearly laughed with glee: the amount was more than enough now, and she pulled out what she required, placed the extra back in the small box, added the photographs, and put the entire thing back in the closet once again, knowing Charles would never be the wiser.

It seemed like a lot of unnecessary work, perhaps. Elsie and Charles shared control of their household finances, the both of them keen with figures after careers spent managing the helm (and the household accounts) of a home such as Downton, and she was of course at liberty to withdraw at will from their own personal account for any purchases which she chose.

But if she withdrew money from their account for her husband's birthday gift, particularly the amount she held in her hand now, it would never be a _surprise_ to him. And with Charles turning seventy in just over a week's time, a small, heartfelt surprise was exactly what she had in mind.

She scurried downstairs again and placed the money she'd taken into her wallet. No sooner had she placed her handbag back on its shelf and put the kettle on the hob for tea did she hear Charles's telltale footsteps heading up the path.

 **oOoOoOo**

Exactly ten days later, Charles Carson woke just before sunrise on his birthday. He took a moment to appreciate all of the sensations he felt upon opening his eyes: the softness of the predawn light, the fragrance of the lilacs in the gentle breeze coming in through the bedroom window, and the warmth of his wife as she lay curled up beside him. His heart was full, content in so many ways that had eluded him for most of his life, and his gratitude for everything he had was something for which he'd never be able to find suitable words.

Elsie stirred, and he shifted to draw her closer, smiling and dropping a kiss to her forehead when she opened her eyes sleepily and looked up at him.

"Happy birthday, Charlie," she murmured, her voice thick with her brogue and with sleepiness. She returned his kiss, landing it somewhere in the vicinity of his heart just before wrapping her arm around his torso and snuggling in more closely in his embrace.

"The happiest yet," he replied, his voice rumbling in the stillness of the room. "The sun's just about to come up."

Elsie took a few more minutes to completely waken. Once she did, she sat up beside her beloved, his arm around her shoulders as they saw the sun rise over the hedge that bordered the back of their garden.

"Going to be a lovely day for you, Charles. Barely a cloud in the sky."

"And you with the day off," he replied, giving her a squeeze.

"You're still up for a picnic by the pond, then?"

"Still amused by that?" he retorted, half-joking. "I don't see what's so unusual about it."

"It doesn't involve a table and chairs. No linens, no crystal …" Her voice trailed off.

Charles leaned in. "No other people," he added quietly. "A beautiful day with my lovely wife, a touch of sun, and fresh air. What's better than that for an old man, hm?"

She turned to face him, then reached up and drew his face to hers, kissing him sweetly and softly on the mouth, her fingers trailing through his wavy hair.

"Nothing at all," she replied eventually. "And enough of this 'old man' business."

She slipped down in the bed again and pulled him on top of her, giggling when he purposely trailed his fingers up her thigh and slipped them under the hem of her nightgown.

"I suppose I can be youthful once in a while, when warranted," he replied, his eyes darkening as she trailed her own fingers down his spine and tucked them beneath the waistband of his shorts.

"And is this your way of providing a demonstration of youthful abilities, Mr. Carson?"

He leaned down and kissed a tender spot just to the side of her collarbone, and she sighed happily.

"Perhaps it is, Mrs. Carson." And the words, muttered in a warm breath against the softness of her neck, were the beginning of her undoing.

 **oOoOoOo**

The sun was high when they finally set out for Charles's birthday picnic. He surprised his wife by catching her fingers in his as they walked to the pond and she smiled brilliantly at him, wondering if her curmudgeonly butler truly was being put away for good in his retirement. It made her ponder her own plan, made her think of the next four months with some strange mixture of dread at the sheer length of them and nervousness at what her life would feel like without the purpose of her career.

But then the breeze fluttered the softness of her blouse, which wasn't resting over a corset on this, her precious day off with Charlie, and the nervousness dissipated once again.

"How's that, then, Charlie? It's shaded by the tree, which we can sit up against if we like. And the small platform is just down there if you fancy dipping our feet in later."

Charles looked over to where she indicated and nodded. "It's perfect."

They set out the blanket and sat down, shoes removed and set aside. Elsie emptied the basket as Charles rolled his shirtsleeves, and she noticed that the tremor which so often afflicted him at the most inconvenient of times seemed almost non-existent today.

 _Small favors,_ she thought as she poured them each a glass of cider.

They chatted companionably as they ate and watched the small family of ducks that resided in the pond. Not a soul was in sight, despite the proximity of the pond to the abbey and the gorgeous weather of the day, and Elsie wondered if Mrs. Patmore had advised the footmen and maids to stay clear of the area today so that the Carsons could enjoy a bit of peace for Charles's day. As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she was sure it was the truth.

After they'd finished their lunch, Elsie pried the hamper open once again and withdrew a small white box. Charles's eyes widened, making her laugh. "Surely you didn't think I'd forget a cake?" she asked.

"Well … No, not really," he admitted. "But I did wonder how you'd manage it in a picnic hamper."

"I requested a small one," she answered. "It was much more practical, and a much better idea than the two of us having a normal-sized one to finish on our own."

"We'd have managed," Charles replied, and Elsie glanced up just in time to see him pouting playfully.

"But we _shouldn't,_ " she insisted with a glance to his belly. "I believe we had an agreement about this marriage, Charles, and it does require us maintaining our health."

His eyes grew soft, and he reached out and caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers.

"We did at that," he said quietly.

She leaned over and placed a swift kiss to the tip of his nose before settling back. "Now, I've not brought a candle, but I'll sing to you if you like?"

He raised his eyebrows, grinned, and nodded enthusiastically. "Please."

So sing she did.

The cake – a decadent chocolate with a cream frosting – was delicious, and by the time they were done, barely a bite was left. Feeling the need to get up to walk a bit and let their meal settle, Elsie and Charles made their way - barefoot - down to the small dock that jutted out into the pond. They sat for a bit and dipped their feet, then waded through the shallow water before leaving the pond for a stroll through the wildflower-strewn field. The property was quiet except for a bit of birdsong and the rustling of the grass in the breeze, both Elsie and Charles were somewhat lost in thought but remained close to each other, hand in hand once again, the minutes interspersed with a few gentle kisses and sighs of happiness.

"A perfect day," Charles uttered at one point, and his wife looked over at him to see his gaze stretched out over the expansive fields. "One of the best I've ever spent here, I think."

"Truly? You've lived nearly your entire life on this estate, between farmhouse and abbey."

He turned to her, taking her hands in his once again. "I have. And I spent a great many of them wandering about this particular part of it when I was a boy. But this day tops nearly all the rest."

Elsie bit down on her lip, tilting her head as she read the love in his eyes. "Well," she said in a whisper, "I do have _one_ more surprise for you."

"Do you?"

"I do. I believe I owe you a birthday gift."

"This entire day is a gift, Els," he said meaningfully, and he drew her to him in a gentle embrace.

"The gift fits the day, Charlie," she said mysteriously, leaning back so she could look into his eyes. "Let's head back and sit, and you'll see what I mean."

He furrowed his brow. "All right, then."

Elsie smirked. "You _do_ trust me, don't you?"

"More than anyone," he replied sincerely, and her breath hitched at the naked honesty in the words.

Once seated on the blanket again, Elsie withdrew the last item from the picnic hamper, the one she'd sequestered in there when she'd carefully packed it all up that morning. She handed it to Charles, who brushed his fingers over the simple blue paper before fingering the ribbon.

"It's a book," he declared, and she quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Just open it, Charlie," she said quietly.

He carefully slid off the ribbon and pried open the paper, casting both aside in his astonishment at what lay beneath them: a nearly unblemished, blue, leather-bound copy of _The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.*_

"Elsie," he breathed. "How … How did you locate one of these?"

She watched as his eyes misted and saw myriad emotions playing across his face. He lifted the cover, then slowly turned several of the pages, his eyes scanning them each in turn but spending more time on the illustrations than the words.

"I enquired at the book shop," she replied eventually. "Of course, I knew exactly which edition to get, and I brought along your other copy from home to make sure they found a perfect match."

He looked up at her. "I've had that book for sixty years today," he said, stunned at the realization. "I got it for my tenth birthday. Did I ever tell you that? I'd forgotten that until just now."

"You did, actually, but I'm not surprised you don't remember. You mentioned it to me in passing soon after I was promoted to housekeeper, when you loaned it to me to read that winter when we were snowed in for a week." She paused, watching him. "Do you remember now?"

He nodded slowly, thinking back. "Oh, yes." His gaze appeared fixed on the book in his hands, but the images in his mind were far away, thoughts of snow whipping in the wind, of the groomsmen struggling with the horses and the carriage on the ice, the sun bright on the snow-covered fields … and the feel of the housekeeper's hand in the crook of his elbow, the first time he'd ever felt it there, as he guided her safely over the ice and down the path to church on a cold winter's Sunday. "Yes, I remember that winter," he murmured, and he returned to the present and found her brilliant, blue eyes fixed on his expressions.

"Well. Seventy is an important birthday, I think. And despite your love of pulling off a lavish affair over the years, I didn't think you were well-suited to being the guest of honor at one. So I had to think of another way to mark the day, something meaningful and personal for _you,_ Charlie."

He looked through the book once again, then back at his wife. "I'm truly touched, Elsie. I've no idea how you managed it without telling me, I don't mind saying. This is a very rare edition, indeed. I'm surprised they were able to track one down in such good condition. It's the perfect gift."

They both thought of his other copy, so well worn after decades of reading, a prized possession from Charles's meagre childhood.

"I knew I wanted to get you something you'd enjoy in your retirement, but it had to be meaningful. So I looked over your collection, and whilst you could use a new copy of Burke's Peerage and a few of the biographies you've loved, this one seemed a bit more special for your birthday - for _this_ birthday. And truth be told, your original copy really should be relegated to a very safe place and not opened too many more times."

"Thank you," he said, his emotion making the words difficult.

She smiled lovingly back at him. "You're welcome. Think of it as a bit more youthfulness for you, love. We've that entire marriage plan ahead of us, as you reminded me of earlier today."

"Thirty years," he whispered, leaning over for a kiss, one which she delivered with pleasure.

"Thirty years," she murmured against his lips. "You'd better believe it."

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks to those of you who gave me ideas for the actual book. I needed one that Charles could have read and enjoyed as a boy, but of course I couldn't reveal _that_ in my tumblr post, else I'd have given away the story! ****I appreciate all of your love for this story so much, and I send particular greetings and thanks to the guests to whom I cannot reply in person.**

 ***Thanks to a diligent reader for alerting me to the publication date for this book. It would appear that, while I did look that up, I had Charles's birth date poorly remembered (and atrocious Math skills)! Apologies ... Willing suspension of disbelief? *please***

 **The reviews really do feed the story, and I'd appreciate it greatly if you'd leave one and let me know what you thought of this. And if you have other ideas for "random day in the life of married Chelsie," I'm all ears.** **xxx ~CSotA**


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